_ CHAPTER XVI. "ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE"
The family met at the breakfast-table at the usual hour on the following morning; but I noticed that Jim was not in his accustomed place behind the Colonel's chair. That gentleman exhibited his usual good spirits, but Madam P---- looked sad and anxious, and
I had not forgotten the scene of the previous evening.
While we were seated at the meal, the negro Junius hastily entered the room, and in an excited manner exclaimed:
"Oh, massa, massa, you muss cum ter de cabin--Jim hab draw'd his knife, and he swar he'll kill de fuss 'un dat touch him!"
"He does, does he!" said his master, springing from his seat, and abruptly leaving the apartment.
Remembering the fierce burst of passion I had seen in the negro, and fearing there was danger a-foot, I rose to follow, saying, as I did so:
"Madam, cannot you prevent this?"
"I cannot, sir; I have already done all I can. Go and try to pacify the Colonel--Jim will die before he'll be whipped." Jim was standing at the farther end of the old cabin, with his back to the wall, and the large spring knife in his hand. Some half-dozen negroes were in the centre of the room, apparently cowed by his fierce and desperate looks, and his master was within a few feet of him.
"I tell you, Cunnel," cried the negro, as I entered, "you touch me at your peril!"
"You d----d nigger, do you dare to speak so to me?" said his master, taking a step toward him.
The knife rose in the air, and the black, in a cool, sneering tone, replied: "Say your prayers 'fore you come nigher, for, so help me God, you'm a dead man!"
I laid my hand on the Colonel's arm, to draw him back, saying, as I did so: "There's danger in him! I
know it. Let him go, and he shall ask your pardon."
"I shan't ax his pardon," cried the black; "leff him an' me be, sir; we'll fix dis ourselfs."
"Don't interfere, Mr. K----," said my host, with perfect coolness, but with a face pallid with rage. "Let me govern my own plantation."
"As you say, sir," I replied, stepping back a few paces; "but I warn you--there is danger in him!"
Taking no notice of my remark, the Colonel turning to the trembling negroes, said: "One of you go to the house and bring my pistols."
"You kin shoot me, ef you likes," said Jim, with a fierce, grim smile; "but I'll take you ter h--l wid me,
shore. You knows WE wont stand a blow!"
The Colonel, at the allusion to their relationship, started as if shot, and turning furiously on the negro, yelled out: "I'll shoot you for that, you d----d nigger, by ----."
"It 'pears ter me, Cunnel, ye've hed 'bout nuff shootin' round har, lately; better stop thet sort o' bis'ness; it moight give ye a sore throat," said the long, lean, loose-jointed stump-speaker of the previous Sunday, as he entered the cabin and strode directly up to my host.
"What brought you here, you d----d insolent hound?" cried the Colonel, turning fiercely on the new-comer.
"Wal, I cum ter du ye a naaboorly turn--I've kotched two on yer niggers down ter my still, and I want ye ter take 'em 'way," returned the corn-cracker, with the utmost coolness.
"Two of my niggers!" exclaimed the Colonel, perceptibly moderating his tone--"which ones?"
"A yaller gal, and a chile."
"I thank you, Barnes; excuse my hard words--I was excited."
"All right, Cunnel; say no more 'bout thet. Will ye send fur 'em? I'd hev fotched 'em 'long, but my waggin's off jest now."
"Yes, I'll send at once. Have you got them safe?"
"Safe? I reckon so! Kotched 'em last night, arter dark, and they've kept right still ever sense, I 'sure ye--but th' gal holds on ter th' young 'un ter kill--we cudn't get it 'way no how."
"How did you catch them?"
"They got 'gainst my turpentime raft--the curren' driv 'em down, I s'pose."
"What! are they dead?"
"Dead? deader'n drownded rats!" replied the native,
"My God! drowned herself and her child!" exclaimed the Colonel, with deep emotion.
"It is terrible, my friend. Come, let us go to them, at once," I said, laying my hand on his arm, and drawing him unresistingly away.
A pair of mules was speedily harnessed to a large turpentine wagon, and the horses we had ridden the day before were soon at the door. When the Colonel, who had been closeted for a few minutes with Madam P----, came out of the house, we mounted, and rode off with the "corn-cracker."
The native's farm was located on the stream which watered my friend's plantation, and was about ten miles distant. Taking a by-road which led to it through the woods, we rode rapidly on in advance of the wagon.
"Sort o' likely gal, thet, warn't she?" remarked the turpentine-maker, after a while.
"Yes, she was," replied the Colonel, in a half-abstracted manner; "
very likely."
"Kill harself 'case har man war shot by thet han'som overseer uv your'n?"
"Not altogether for that, I reckon," replied my host; "I fear the main reason was her being put at field-work, and abused by the driver."
"Thet comes uv not lookin' arter things yerself, Cunnel. I tend ter my niggers parsonally, and they keer a durned sight more fur this world then fur kingdom-cum. Ye cudn't hire 'em ter kill 'emselves fur no price."
"Well," replied the Colonel, in a low tone, "I
did look after her. I put her at full field-work, myself!"
"By----!" cried the native, reining his horse to a dead stop, and speaking in an excited manner: "I doant b'lieve it--'taint 't all like ye--yer a d----d seceshener; thet comes uv yer bringin'-up--but ye've a soul bigger'n a meetin'-house, and ye cudn't hev put thet slim, weakly gal inter th' woods, no how!"
The Colonel and I instinctively halted our horses, as the "corn-cracker" stopped his, and were then standing abreast of him in the road.
"It's true, Barnes," said my host, in a voice that showed deep dejection; "I
did do it!"
"May God Almighty furgive ye, Cunnel," said the native, starting his horse forward; "
I wudn't hev dun it fur all yer niggers, by ----."
The Colonel made no reply, and we rode on the rest of the way in silence.
The road was a mere wagon-track through the trees, and it being but little travelled, and encumbered with the roots and stumps of the pine, our progress was slow, and we were nearly two hours in reaching the plantation of the native.
The corn-cracker's house--a low, unpainted wooden building--stood near the little stream, and in the centre of a cleared plot of some ten acres. This plot was surrounded by a post-and-rail fence, and in its front portion was a garden, which grew a sufficient supply of vegetables to serve a family of twenty persons. In the rear, and at the sides of the dwelling, were about seven acres, devoted mainly to corn and potatoes. In one corner of the lot were three tidy-looking negro-houses, and close beside them I noticed a low shed, near which a large quantity of the stalks of the tall, white corn, common to that section, was stacked in the New England fashion. Browsing on the corn-stalks were three sleek, well-kept milch cows, and a goat.
About four hundred yards from the farmer's house, and on the bank of the little run, which there was quite wide and deep, stood a turpentine distillery; and around it were scattered a large number of rosin and turpentine barrels, some filled and some empty. A short distance higher up, and far enough from the "still" to be safe in the event of a fire, was a long, low, wooden shed, covered with rough, unjointed boards, placed upright, and unbattened. This was the "spirit-house," used for the storage of the spirits of turpentine when barrelled for market, and awaiting shipment. In the creek, and filling nearly one-half of the channel in front of the spirit-shed, was a raft of pine timber, on which were laden some two hundred barrels of rosin. On such rude conveyances the turpentine-maker sent his produce to Conwayboro'. There the timber-raft was sold to my way-side friend, Captain B----, and its freight shipped on board vessel for New York. Two "prime" negro men, dressed in the usual costume, were "tending the still;" and a negro woman, as stout and strong as the men, and clad in a short, loose, linsey gown, from beneath which peeped out a pair of coarse leggins, was adjusting a long wooden trough, which conveyed the liquid rosin from the "still" to a deep excavation in the earth, at a short distance. In the pit was a quantity of rosin sufficient to fill a thousand barrels.
"Here, Bill," said Barnes to one of the negro men, as we pulled up at the distillery, "put these critters up, and give 'em sum oats, and when they've cooled off a bit, water 'em."
"Yas, yas, massa," replied the negro, springing nimbly forward, and taking the horses by the bridles, "an' rub 'em down, massa?"
"Yas, rub 'em down right smart," replied the corn-cracker; then turning to me, as we dismounted, he said: "Stranger, thet's th' sort o' niggers fur ye; all uv mine ar' jess like him--smart and lively as kittens."
"He does seem to go about his work cheerfully," I replied.
"Cheerfully! d----d ef he doant--all on 'em du! They like me better'n thar own young 'uns, an' it's 'cause I use 'em like human bein's;" and he looked slyly toward the Colonel, who just then was walking silently away, in the direction of the run, as if in search of the browned "chattels."
"Not thar, Cunnel," cried the native; "they're inter th' shed;" and he started to lead the way to the "spirit-house."
"Not now, Barnes," I said, putting my hand on his arm: "leave him alone for a little while. He is feeling badly, and we'd better not disturb him just yet."
The native motioned me to a seat on a rosin-barrel, as he replied:
"Wal, he 'pears ter--thet's a fact, and he orter. D----d ef it arn't wicked to use niggers like cattle, as he do."
"I don't think he means to ill-treat them--he's a kind-hearted man."
"Wal, he ar sort o' so; but he's left ev'ry thing ter thet d----d overseer uv his'n. I wudn't ha' trusted him to feed my hogs."
"Hogs!" I exclaimed, laughing; "I supposed you didn't
feed hogs in these diggins. I supposed you 'let 'em run.'"
"
I doant; an' I've got th' tallest porkys round har."
"I've been told that they get a good living in the woods."
"Wal, p'r'aps the' du jest make eout ter live thar; but my ole 'oman likes 'em ter hum--they clean up a place like--eat up all th' leavin's, an' give th' young nigs suthin' ter du."
"It seems to me," I said, resuming the previous thread of the conversation; "that overseers are a necessity on a large plantation." "Wal, the' ar', an' thet's why thar ortent ter be no big plantations; God Almighty didn't make human bein's ter be herded togethar in th' woods like hogs. No man orter ter hev more'n twenty on 'em--he can't look arter no more himself, an' its agin natur ter set a feller over 'em what hain't no int'rest in 'em, an' no feelin' fur 'em, an' who'll drive 'em round like brutes. I never struck one on 'em in my life, an' my ten du more'n ony fifteen th' Cunnel's got."
"I thought they needed occasional correction. How do you manage them without whipping?"
"Manage them! why 'cordin' ter scriptur--do ter 'em as I'd like ter be dun ter, ef I war a nigger. Every one on 'em knows I'd part with my last shirt, an' live on taters an' cow-fodder, fore I'd sell em; an' then I give 'em Saturdays for 'emselfs--but thet's cute dealin' in me (tho' th' pore, simple souls doant see it), fur ye knows the' work thet day for 'emselfs, an' raise nigh all thar own feed, 'cept th' beef and whiskey--an' it sort o' makes 'em feel like folks, too, more like as ef the' war
free--the' work th' better fur it all th' week."
"Then you think the blacks would work better if free?"
"In
course I does--its agin man's natur to be a slave. Thet lousy parson ye herd ter meetin, a Sunday, makes slavery eout a divine institooshun, but my wife's a Bible 'oman, and she says 'taint so; an' I'm d----d ef she arn't right."
"Is your wife a South Carolina women?"
"No, she an' me's from th' old North--old Car'tret, nigh on ter Newbern; an' we doant take nat'rally to these fire-eaters."
"Have you been here long?"
"Wal, nigh on ter six yar. I cum har with nuthin' but a thousan' ter my back--slapped thet inter fifteen hun'red acres--paid it down--and then hired ten likely, North Car'lina niggers--hired 'em with th' chance uv buyin' ef the' liked eout har. Wal, th' nigs all know'd me, and the' sprung ter it like blazes; so every yar I've managed ter buy two on 'em, and now I've ten grow'd up, and thar young'uns; th' still and all th' traps paid fur, an' ef this d----d secesh bis'ness hadn't a come 'long, I'd hev hed a right smart chance o' doin' well."
"I'm satisfied secession will ruin the turpentine business; you'll be shut up here, unable to sell your produce, and it will go to waste."
"Thet's my 'pinion; but I reckon I kin' manage now witheout turpentime. I've talked it over 'long with my nigs, and we kalkerlate, ef these ar doin's go eny furder, ter tap no more trees, but clar land an' go ter raisin' craps."
"What! do you talk politics with your negroes?"
"Nary a politic--but I'm d----d ef th' critters doan't larn 'em sumhow; the' knows 'bout as much uv what's goin' on as I du--but plantin arn't politics; its bisness, an' they've more int'rest in it nor I hev, 'cause they've sixteen mouths ter feed agin my four."
"I'm glad, my friend, that you treat them like men: but I have supposed they were not well enough informed to have intelligent opinions on such subjects."
"Informed! wal, I reckon the' is; all uv mine kin read, an' sum on 'em kin write, too. D'ye see thet little nig thar?" pointing to a juvenile coal-black darky of about six years, who was standing before the "still" fire; "thet ar little devil kin read an' speak like a parson. He's got hold, sumhow, uv my little gal's book o' pieces, an' larned a dozen on 'em. I make him cum inter th' house, once in a while uv an evenin', an' speechify, an' 'twould do yer soul good ter har him, in his shirt tail, with a old sheet wound round him fur a toger (I've told him th' play-acters du it so down ter Charles'on), an' spoutin' out: 'My name am Norval; on de Gruntin' hills my fader feed him hogs!' The little coon never seed a sheep, an' my wife's told him a flock's a herd, an' he thinks 'hog'
sounds better'n 'flock,' so, contra'y ter th' book, he puts in 'hogs,' and hogs, you knows, hev ter grunt, so he gits 'em on th' 'Gruntin hills;" and here the kind-hearted native burst into a fit of uproarious laughter, in which, in spite of myself, I had to join.
When the merriment had somewhat subsided, the turpentine-maker called out to the little darky:
"Come here, Jim."
The young chattel ran to him with alacrity, and wedging in between his legs, placed his little black hands, in a free-and-easy way, on his master's knees, and, looking up trustfully in his face, said:
"Wal, massa?"
"What's yer name?"
"Dandy Jim, massa."
"Thet arn't all--what's th' rest?"
"Dandy Jim of ole Car'lina."
"Who made ye?"
"De good God, massa."
"No, He didn't: God doant make little nigs. He makes none but white folks;" said the master, laughing.
"Yas He'm do; Missus say He'm do; dat He make dis nig jess like He done little Totty."
"Wal, He did, Jim. I'm d----d ef
He didn't, fur nobody else cud make
ye!" replied the man, patting the little woolly head with undisguised affection.
"Now, Jim, say th' creed fur 'de gemman.'"
The young darky then repeated the Apostle's Creed and the Ten Commandments.
"Is thet all ye knows?"
"No, massa, I knows a heap 'sides dat."
"Wal, say suthin' more--sum on 'em pieces thet jingle."
The little fellow then repeated with entire correctness, and with appropriate gestures, and emphasis, though in the genuine darky dialect--which seems to be inborn with the pure-Southern black--Mrs. Hemans' poem:
"The boy stood on the burning deck."
"Mrs. Hemans draped in black!" I exclaimed, laughing heartily: "How would the good lady feel, could she look down from where she is, and hear a little darky doing up her poetry in that style?"
"D----d ef I doant b'lieve 'twud make her love th' little nig like I do;" replied the corn-cracker, taking him up on his knee as tenderly as he would have taken up his own child.
"Tell me, my little man," I said: "who taught you all these things?"
"I larned 'em, myseff, sar," was the prompt reply.
"You learned them, yourself! but who taught you to read?"
"I larned 'em myseff, sar!"
"You couldn't have learned
that yourself; didn't your 'massa' teach you?"
"No, sar."
"Oh! your 'missus' did."
"No, sar."
"No, sar!" I repeated; then suspecting the real state of the case, I looked him sternly in the eye, and said: "My little man, it's wrong to tell lies--you must
always speak the truth; now, tell me truly, did not your 'missus' teach you these things?"
"No, sar, I larned 'em myseff."
"Ye can't cum it, Stranger; ye moight roast him over a slow fire, an' not git nary a thing eout on him but thet," said the corn-cracker, leaning forward, and breaking into a boisterous fit of laughter. "It's agin th' law, an' I'm d----d ef I teached him. Reckon he
did larn himself!"
"I must know your wife, my friend. She's a good woman."
"Good! ye kin bet high on thet; she's uv th' stuff th' Lord makes angels eout on."
I had no doubt of it, and was about to say so, when the Colonel's turpentine wagon drove up, and I remembered I had left him too long alone.
The coachman was driving, and Jim sat on the wagon beside him.
"Massa K----," said the latter, getting down and coming to me: "Whar am dey?"
"In the spirit-shed."
He was turning to go there, when I called him back, saying: "Jim, you must not see your master now; you'd better keep out of sight for the present."
"No, massa; de ma'am say de Cunnel take dis bery hard, and dat I orter tell him I'se sorry for what I'se done."
"Well, wait a while. Let me go in first."
Accompanied by the corn-cracker, I entered the turpentine-shed. A row of spirit-barrels were ranged along each of its sides, and two tiers occupied the centre of the building. On these a number of loose planks were placed, and on the planks lay the bodies of the metif woman and her child. The Colonel was seated on a barrel near them, with his head resting on his hands, and his eyes fixed on the ground. He did not seem to notice our entrance, and, passing him without speaking, I stepped to the side of the dead.
The woman's dress, the common linsey gown worn by her class, was still wet, and her short, kinky, brown hair fell in matted folds around her face. One arm hung loosely by her side; the other was clasped tightly around her child, which lay as if asleep on her bosom. One of its small hands clung to its mother's breast, and around its little lips played a smile. But how shall I describe the pale, sweet beauty of the face of the drowned girl, as she lay there, her eyes closed, and her lips parted, as in prayer? Never but once have I seen on human features the strange radiance that shone upon it, or the mingled expression of hope, and peace, and resignation that rested there--and that was in the long-gone time, when, standing by her bedside, I watched the passing away of one who is now an angel in heaven!
"Come, my dear friend, let us go," I said, turning and gently taking the Colonel by the arm, "the negroes are here, and will take charge of the dead."
"No, no!" he replied, rising, and looking around, as if aroused from a troubled dream; "that is for
me to do!" Then he added, after a moment's pause, "Will you help me to get them into the wagon?"
"Yes, I will, certainly."
He made one step toward the body of the dead girl, then sinking down again on the barrel, covered his face with his hands, and cried out: "My God! this is terrible! Did you ever see such a look as that? It will haunt me forever!"
"Come, my friend, rouse yourself--this is weakness; you are tired with the long ride and excitement of the past few days. Come, go home--I will look after them."
"No, no! I must do it. I will be a man again;" and he rose and walked steadily to the dead bodies. "Is there any one here to help?" he asked.
Jim was standing in the door-way, and I motioned to him to come forward. The great tears were streaming down his face as he stepped timidly towards his master, and said: "I'll do dis, massa, don't you trubble yerself no more."
"It's good of you, Jim. You'll forgive me for being so cruel to you, wont you?" said the Colonel, taking the black by the hand.
"Forgib ye, massa!
I war all ter blame--but ye'll forgib me, massa--ye'll forgib me!" cried the black, with strong emotion.
"Yes, yes; but say no more about it. Come, let us get Julie home."
But the poor girl was already
home--home where her sufferings and her sorrows were over, and all her tears were wiped away forever!
We four bore away the mother and the child. A number of blankets were in the bottom of the wagon, and we laid the bodies carefully upon them. When all seemed ready, the Colonel, who was still standing by the side of the dead, turned to my new friend, and said: "Barnes, will you loan me a pillow? I will send it back to-night."
"Sartin, Cunnel;" and the farmer soon brought one from the house. Lifting tenderly the head of the drowned girl, the Colonel placed it beneath her, and smoothing back her tangled hair, he gently covered her face with his handkerchief, as if she could still feel his kindness, or longer cared for the pity or the love of mortal. Yet, who knows but that her parted soul, from the high realm to which it had soared, may not then have looked down, have seen that act, and have forgiven him! _